The Tale of Milo Burrows, Part 2
A 32 year old Milo, who had just received a blow to the face rose to his feet, swiping away some blood dripping off his nose. “Don’t you think we could settle this in a more peaceful way, Cawlin?” he inquired. A punch soared over his head, but he ducked just below it, “I don’t think that everything has to be resolved by violence!” he pleaded. Cawlin, enraged at not being able to hit Milo, again jabbed at Milo’s face, but this time, it landed where it was aimed. Milo fell to his back, and Cawlin loomed over him. One of Cawlin’s friends stood back and watched the scene while the other acted as a lookout for a town guard or a curious civilian.
“I don’t know, Milo! It seems that things always end my way if I fight,” he mocked. While he spoke, Milo took the opportunity to kick at Cawlin’s legs with his own. Cawlin fell to the ground on his side. Milo tried to regain his footing, but before he could, he was met with a blow to the chest from Cawlin’s friend. Cawlin rose to his feet, while Milo lay on the ground, clutching his sides in pain. Without saying a word, Cawlin kicked his stomach, again, and again, and again.
“Someone’s coming!” the lookout shouted to Cawlin. He immediately stopped and turned to flee the scene, but Milo chuckled, rather painfully, and spoke to him as he turned to leave, “I think you missed a rib or two.” Not wanting to be caught, but still burning with hatred, Cawlin spat towards Milo’s face but missed before running off. ‘This is going to be a great birthday alright,’ Milo thought as he got to his feet.
He stumbled out of the alley and began the arduous journey back to home. He slowly trudged along the path and felt the bruise on his left cheek. There wasn’t any way that he was going to be able to hide this one. He smiled as he crested the hill and saw the small cabin that nestled itself on a cliff over the vast ocean. It wasn’t much, but it was home. He walked up to the door, threw off his shoes, and strolled inside. The house was warmed by the fire dancing in the hearth, heating up a pot of soup that was to be served for dinner. He smiled as he breathed in the familiar aromas that filled the room. He turned to the dining table and was surprised to see his father sitting there and watching him. Instinctively, Milo moved his hand up to his face to cover the bruise that blemished his face, but it was too late. His father had already noticed.
“Come here son,” he called to his son. Milo walked over to the table and seated himself next to his father. He sat and inspected Milo’s face.
“Another fight with Cawlin I see,” he observed.
“Yeah, he was picking on someone younger then him again. I couldn’t just stand by,” Milo defended.
His father nodded, “I know. I don’t blame you for standing up for him, but you aren’t going to do anyone any favors if you get yourself killed.”
“I know…,” Milo told him. He realized that his father was getting too old to really take care of him anymore. He had turned 61 recently and was starting to show some signs of his age. He was slower and his hair and beard were slowly turning more and more white, but his eyes still shone with the same glimmer that they always had.
“Anyways,” he started, “you’ve had enough excitement for one day. You go rest a bit and I’ll have the soup ready for you when you get up.”
“Thanks,” Milo was tired and could tell that his father wasn’t angry with him, so he didn’t argue, he shuffled to his room, and promptly fell asleep on his bed.
About 45 minutes later, Milo woke to hear his father readying bowls wooden tableware for dinner. He rolled out of bed and walked to the kitchen where the food was waiting for him. He looked down at the freshly poured bowl of beef stew, his favorite meal. “Hope you like it. I know I’m not the best cook to ever live, but I think I did pretty well!” his father proudly stated with a smile.
Milo chuckled, “I’m sure you made it just fine. It’s pretty hard to mess up beef in some broth.” He sat down with his father and they ate the soup and talked. They always got along with each other, and never lacked a good topic to discuss or laugh about. It was yet another great birthday for Milo, a day to just eat and laugh with his father. “So, how did the registration go?” his father inquired.
“Well…” Milo paused, “they really didn’t think I had what a good Voldsom needs, courage and strength. I’m not too upset about it. I can understand why they wouldn’t want a Halfling in their units.”
“Really? I thought you were looking forward to becoming a proper Hoydvinian soldier?” he asked.
“Well, I was actually wondering something,” Milo confessed, “Halfast didn’t exactly make the registration either, though not for his lack of boldness. He’s as anxious as I am, so he decided that he wanted to go find a job somewhere else. I was wondering if maybe I could…”
“You may,” his father interjected.
“What?” Milo asked in surprise.
“I’ve seen this coming for a while now,” his father said quietly, “You’ve come of age, and you always wanted to go ‘become a hero’ as you called it. I don’t think I should stop you. I know you have a heart of gold and wish to help people. Besides, I’m too old to be taking care of you anymore. I knew that Halfast was planning on leaving soon, so you are free to leave when you feel that you are ready.”
Milo sat, looking at his father. He thought that it would take a miracle to convince his father to let him leave Payna, but his father was encouraging him to! The thought had occurred to him that his father was only joking, but his old eyes shone in such a way that Milo knew that he was serious. “Well, I,” he stammered.
“You don’t need to say anything. I’m sure that you’ll do just fine out there. Just promise me that you will stop by to say hello when you can,” When he finished, Milo left his seat and quickly embraced his father. He held him there for a few moments and his father patted his back slowly. They separated and continued their meal. After finishing, Milo ran to tell Halfast the exciting news.
The next week was nothing but preparing for the journey for Milo. He bustled around town for the first couple of days, saying goodbye to those that he knew and visiting all the places that he loved to visit. The last days spent in Payna were spent getting things packed away, getting permission to leave the kingdom, and spending time with his father.
On the morning of his last day in Payna, Milo stood up from his bed and looked out the window. He saw the vast ocean and the small town that stood resolutely next to it. He always loved the town, and he always would, but now it was time to say farewell. He picked up his rucksack, walked out of his room and saw his father waiting in the doorway. He stepped forward, and dropped his bag. His father smiled tenderly and somewhat sorrowfully at him. “Before you go, I’ve got something for you,” he informed Milo. He picked up an object wrapped in a long roll of cloth off of the nearby bench and placed it into Milo’s arms. Milo carefully un-wrapped the cloth and saw only one thing inside, a sword. Not an impressive sword, nor a particularly sharp one, but it was sturdy enough to work in battle, and Milo loved it. He raised it and looked at its simple blade in wonder. He put the sword down next to his pack, and embraced his father. Of everything in Payna, he was going to miss his father the most. After a while, Milo let go and gazed upon his father, his eyes filling up with tears. His father smiled as he looked back at him, and Milo was sure that he was proud of him. “Here,” his father said as he reached back to the bench and retrieved some flowers, “Say hello for me. Would you?” Milo nodded, before shouldering his pack and sword, smiling one last time at his father, and starting down the path.
Milo ventured towards the west side of town, where the town gate stood and Halfast would be waiting. Instead of continuing to the edge of town though, he turned to the left, and walked down a short pathway to arrive at a small tree. It was a young tree; more of a sapling than anything, but just beneath it rested a small stone and a stick on which was tied a blue cape that danced lightly in the wind. The small stone read “Heril. She was a gift to us all.” He sat on the ground and tenderly placed the flowers at the base of the stone. They were sunflowers, his mother’s favorite. “Hey,” he spoke, “Sorry I haven’t been here in a while. I just haven’t had much time to say hello.” He paused, and mustered the strength to speak further, “I got your favorite. Well, dad got them. I just came to deliver them, and to say goodbye.” He placed his hand on the stone. “I’m going to become a hero. I’ll come back and by then everyone will know about the hero ‘Master Milo Burrows!’ I hope you’ll be proud of me.” He sat there, and before long, tears streamed down his face. He wept silently at the base of the tree with his hand on the stone. He missed her more than anything else. He ceased weeping, leaned down to place a tender kiss on the stone, and stood up to continue his journey down the path. But before he left, he paused and walked back to the small tree. He untied the cape that fluttered in the ocean breeze, the cape that his mother had given to him so long ago, and he draped it across his shoulders. With his head held high, he finally turned to leave Payna, and everything he had ever known behind him. And as he solemnly walked down the trail, his mother’s words echoed in his mind “All heroes wear capes.”
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